


This is Falling

by NinjaFairy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Lust, Manipulation, Obsession, Smut, Violent Thoughts, Voyeurism, tomione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-02 12:17:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15796365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinjaFairy/pseuds/NinjaFairy
Summary: She was merely an interest - a passing one. After Tom Riddle finds her in a compromising position while doing his rounds one night, she turns into an obsession.[My entry for Tomione Smut Fest 2018. Prompt: Exhibitionism/Voyeurism.]





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weestarmeggie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weestarmeggie/gifts).



**A/N:**  I do not give trigger warnings. There will be content in this story that may make you uncomfortable. The two things I will absolutely  **never write**  are graphic rape scenes or pedophilia, but everything else is fair game. You've been warned.

**Note:** This is a one-shot, but I wanted to break it up into 2-3 parts. This was written for the Tomione Smut Fest 2018 hosted by weestarmeggie. I'm having writer's block on Fostering, so I'm trying to get out of that gross funk by writing a couple one-shots! Yay!

**My prompt:**  Exhibitionism/Voyeurism

* * *

****

**This is Falling: One**

It happened the first time she ever opened her big, fat mouth.

"I think what Mr. Riddle  _meant_ to say, sir," she interrupted him, the long, bushy mop on her head swaying dramatically as she turned around in her seat to face him, "is that  _he_  thinks that Amortentia is only brewed by silly, little girls who are desperate for attention."

He dug his knuckles deep into his thigh, imagining it was her wrist, instead. He needed to save himself and quickly. She had far too much attitude for a woman. What was her name again? Grafton? No, that wasn't right. Graham?

"Oh, I-I'm sure that's not what Tom  _meant_  to say, Ms. Granger," Old Sluggy chuckled uneasily at her boldness.

Ah, that's right.  _Hermione Granger_. She'd arrived with everyone else on the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of the new school year. He hadn't thought much of her when his first duty as Head Boy had been to give her her class schedule on the train, other than being mildly curious about her indifference toward him. Not curious enough to wonder more about it, of course –  _never_  curious enough to wonder more about it.

"Of course not, sir. I simply meant that, statistically speaking, females are more likely to brew the potion than males. Not to say that I  _agree_  with those statistics, Ms. Granger," Tom replied smoothly, letting his eyes settle firmly on hers – they were  _burning_  and he was suddenly curious as to  _why_  they were burning and he couldn't stop his eyes from wandering over her form twisted around in that wooden chair of hers.

When his eyes found hers again, he'd discovered she was staring back with a raised brow. Tom swallowed forcefully, his mouth dry, and he straightened his back, wondering what had come over him.

"Well,  _statistically speaking_ ," she whispered, loudly enough for only him to hear, "I think you're full of  _shit_."

He couldn't prevent his eyebrows raising in shock at her crassness, and he couldn't prevent himself from reacting.

"Well,  _statistically speaking_ ," he mimicked back nastily, with a pleasant smile on his face, "I think you're the kind of girl who would  _require_  a love potion to get somebody to fall in love with  _you_."

"Oh, Tom," she sighed patronizingly, a slow smile spreading across her face that left Tom feeling unsteady. "The irony of your words is just too good to be true, honestly."

His mind went blank, running her words through his head again and again and again, deciphering the meaning behind them. Before he could ask her what she'd meant, she'd already whirled back around to face Old Sluggy as he started his lecture again.

Tom dug his knuckles deeper into his thigh for the remainder of class as he stared at the back of her frizzy head, wondering how much pressure it would take to suffocate her windpipe.

* * *

It happened again a week later during a dueling lesson in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

She'd been paired with a fellow Gryffindor, Margot Droope, who also happened to be one of the best female duelists in their year. Whether Granger knew that or not, he had no idea, but he was curious to see the outcome.

As he watched Granger and Droope take their positions across from each other and bow, he couldn't help but notice some of their similarities: both of similar height, similar hair color, similar features, similar bossy dispositions. The only differences were their facial features: Granger had amber eyes and freckles, whilst Droope had blue eyes and wider face.

He'd been so busy observing them, he almost failed to notice the strong magic crackling around Granger right before she sent a nonverbal spell flying straight for Droope.

Tom's eyes widened in surprise when Droope had barely been able to throw up a shield in time. By the look on her face, he could tell that he wasn't the only one who'd been surprised by Granger.

Droope lowered her shield, took on an offensive stance, and sent three consecutive jinxes barreling at Granger. Droope seemed confident that one of them would knock Granger off her feet, because she didn't take on a defensive stance after she let loose her last spell.

The curly-haired witch deflected all three spells with ease and shot a yellow stunner right back. The way Granger flicked her wrist with ease, spun around gracefully, and didn't fail to hesitate to attack caused his gut to vault.

It felt like falling.

Droope threw up a shield, and started to sweat while Granger's eyes turned to fire and she threw another curse, and another, and another, and  _another_ …

It felt like  _power_.

The other students were anxious, and poor, old, nearly-senile Professor Merrythought instructed for them to stop, but she couldn't be heard over the chaos.

_"_ _Where did she learn to duel like that?"_

_"_ _She's not even saying anything!"_

_"_ _Incredible!"_

_"_ _Do you think she's fought a dark wizard before?"_

Granger froze, her appalled eyes snapping immediately to Tom's. And then, she was gone from his sight, thrown across the room by Droope's curse.

"Hermione! Oh, Merlin!" Margot shouted out, and ran over to the crumpled form of Granger lying on the floor.

Hermione pushed herself up shakily, and touched her head. When she pulled her fingertips away, there was blood. She winced.

Tom's entire body trembled at the sight of it – of her pain, of her blood, of her distress. He wasn't even the cause of it and he  _enjoyed_  seeing her this way, because she  _deserved_  it. Seeing her bleed caused his own blood to push excited adrenaline through his veins.

"I'm  _so_  sorry, Hermione," Droope told her after Merrythought ordered her to take Granger to the hospital wing. "I just got so caught up in the moment. You're an amazing duelist. We should, uh, practice together sometime –"

"Maybe after I get patched up, Margot," Granger replied with a small smile, her eyes wandering over Margot's  _stupid_  face.

"Oh, uh, right. Let's get you healed up," Droope smiled, helping Granger out of the room.

The urge to offer to take Granger to the hospital wing was intense, but he ignored it. As Head Boy, it would look like he was only doing his duty, but Margot was Head Girl – it would just look  _pathetic_  if he offered now.

He chewed at the little bit of dry skin covering his bottom lip for the rest of class, wondering how coppery  _her_  lips would taste with that bloody lip right now.

* * *

At first, he'd called it an interest – a passing one, at that. It couldn't be anything else other than that, because he'd  _refused_  to let it be anything else other than that.

It was one of those unspoken  _things_  that just happened whenever she was around. A tilt of a head. A meeting of eyes. A lift of her lips. A twitch of his cock. A few  _tick tock, tick tocks_  more until he could leave this  _bloody_  room and her suffocating presence.

It was just an interest. A passing one, at that.

That's all she'd ever be.

* * *

At first, he'd called it an interest, but now, he'd call it…well, he'd probably call it a  _fixation_ , of sorts.

He'd called it a fixation, because he was fixated on the different aspects of her: the fire in her eyes whenever they argued in class, the dip of her neck whenever she craned it to look up at him to tell him how  _very_  wrong he was, the curve of her hips whenever she put her fists on them to stop herself from hitting him, the corner of her mouth whenever she frowned at the things he told her.

Tom was finding a new part of her to fixate on every day and he hated her for it.

* * *

Three weeks later, it got worse.

The Slug Club was having a holiday party, and he was having a more difficult time distinguishing what ' _it_ ' was – this feeling he got in his gut, in his bones, in his  _blood_  whenever she was near was causing him to go mad. The more time he spent focusing on  _not_  thinking of her, the more time he spent  _thinking_  of her. She was all he ever thought about and it was distracting.

The feeling intensified as soon as she walked into the room on the arm of Alphard Black. She wore blood-red dress robes that clung to her for dear life, and it didn't matter what Black was wearing. The only thing that mattered was that she was  _there_  with  _him_  and Tom lied to himself, blaming this feeling roiling in his gut on the champagne and not on jealousy.

He watched the way she smiled cheerfully as she greeted her new best friend, Margot Droope, completely oblivious to what she was doing to him.

Tom turned away, and downed the rest of the liquid in his flute.

Jealousy could only be saved for  _objects_  worthy of his time, and time was a currency in which he was abundant with.

And he would spare none of it for her.


	2. Two

As Head Boy, he was still required to make rounds during the holidays. It was boring work, as there were only a handful of students who'd stayed behind, so he brought a book to distract himself with as he walked through the darkened corridors.

If he'd brought a more interesting book, he might've missed the sounds he heard coming from one of the extra classrooms in the East Wing.

Tom pulled his wand out, and quietly vanished the book back to his dorm.

At first, he thought it might be Peeves messing about, but as he got nearer to the ajar door, he quickly realized that it was  _not_  Peeves.

He glimpsed through the crack in the door and what he saw made his mind go blank.

He saw Hermione Granger. She was on her back on one of the desks, with her skirt bunched up haphazardly around her hips, and her legs spread open wide.

The room was dark, but the moonlight filtering through the stained-glass windows cut a clear, colorful outline of Hermione arching her back off the desk as she ran her fingers through the hair of the person who had their face pressed between her bare legs.

While Tom had never done – well, never done what he was currently witnessing before, he was no stranger to sex. He'd heard enough about it from the hormonal boys in Hogwarts and at the orphanage to know how it worked, but seeing it  _here_  – in  _front_  of him – with the person who was the victim of his current fixation made him feel…made him feel…

Hermione let out a long, low moan. His knees buckled and he nearly crashed into the door.

His fingers gripped the edge of the doorframe and he realized seeing her this way made him feel  _weak_.

It also made him feel  _furious_  that someone else was doing this to her and it wasn't  _him_  and he wanted to  _stop_  it, but stopping it would mean that seeing her this way would end.

Tom looked both ways down the corridor to make sure no one was around, then cast a nonverbal silencing and disillusionment spell on himself, deciding that sacrifices were meant to be made for a reason.

The lesser of two evils in this equation was watching Hermione this way, even if the other person wasn't him. All he had to do was focus on her face, her breasts, her  _sounds_ , and simply ignore the rest.

He leaned the side of his head against the doorframe, angling his view so he was unable to see  _his_  face, but so he could perfectly see all of  _her_.

An arch of her back gave him the permission he needed to loosen his belt. Another low moan from her urged him to slip his hand into his trousers, and grasp his already aching cock.

As he moved his hand in time with the way she squirmed on the desk, all he could think of was how if it were  _him_  between her legs right now, he would make her back arch higher, make her  _beg_ , make her plead for him. He would make her cry out as he bit the inside of her thigh, and make her moan as he kissed the pain away before making her cry out again and again and  _again_ for him to stop, for him to continue, for him touch her like that –  _right there_  – for him to  _consume_  her until there was nothing else left for her to give to him.

And he would always take more of her…he would always take more, more,  _more_ , because he would give her everything she could ever want in return.

Tom pumped his fist faster as her breaths got shallower. She was close and he was close and that was all that mattered and he focused on that, on the way her eyebrows scrunched together, on the way her lips were barely parted, on the way she lifted and rolled her hips beautifully against his tongue, on the way Tom would  _slam_  her hips back down if she dared to move as he did his work to unravel her, on…on…

Hermione covered her mouth with her hands, and muffled her final cry and it was music to his ears.

Tom pumped faster, frantic, determined that this – seeing her come undone like this – was the last thing he would see before he turned around and left them there, but fate had other plans.

The man hiding in the shadows between her legs stood from his knees, leaned over Hermione, and kissed her slowly as his hand slid underneath her shirt to cup her breast.

The moment Tom's mouth fell open with shallow breaths as he came into his hand was the same moment he saw the face of the mystery man and he was horrified; it was no man – it was Margot Droope.

* * *

**A/N:**  Gives a whole new meaning to the term 'peeping Tom', eh?


	3. Three

**Three**

* * *

It was breakfast time on Christmas Eve, and Tom made sure to sit at the opposite end of the table where Granger had usually been sitting during the holidays. She hadn't arrived yet, but after what he'd witnessed the night before, there was no guessing as to why she was late to breakfast – why  _both_  of them were late.

After he'd quickly ducked away down the hall, fumbling with his belt buckle along the way, his mind had been racing with what in the  _bloody fuck_  he'd just witnessed. Women doing that with…with  _each_   _other_  was entirely unheard of! It was unnatural! It was revolting!

It was the sole reason why his dick wouldn't stay the fuck down the rest of the night.

He'd tried lying on his stomach, pressing it into his mattress, willing it to go away, but all he could do was fantasize about seeing them again – seeing  _her_  again, wishing and praying that it was  _him_  she'd let do that to her.

Tom thought back to how pressing it into the mattress had been a lost cause, because the more he thought of her, the more he  _pressed_ , over and over and over, until he was left panting, perspiring, sticky, and limp.

Hermione plopped down in the seat across from him, and reached across the table to start filling up her plate, which made Tom jolt out of his lewd thoughts.

"What's wrong with  _you_?" she asked with a frown, then took a bite of toast.

He looked toward the other end of the long table, easily spotting  _many_  empty seats she could've sat in, along with a perfectly innocent-looking Margot Droope chatting amiably with two other students. Tom brought his attention back to her expectant gaze.

Had he imagined last night?

"Nothing," he replied, frustrated that he was unable to come up with something more intelligent to say.

She shrugged at his statement, then took a long drink of her pumpkin juice.

Tom watched in fascination at the way her throat bobbed up and down, and watched the way a small bit of the juice gathered at the corner of her mouth, and watched the way it trickled down her chin.

He thought of other things he'd like to see trickling down her chin, and –

"What're you staring at, Riddle?" she asked, using the pulse of her wrist to wipe the juice away.

His dark eyes snapped back to hers, and he knew by the blush on her cheeks that she knew  _exactly_  what was going through his mind.

It was then that he finally admitted to himself that she was worthy of his time.

Tom smiled, and leaned forward. He threaded his fingers together, and let his elbows rest comfortably on the table. He was the one in control here – not her.

For a moment, he'd almost forgotten who he was.

"You," he answered plainly, never letting his diabolical smirk fall.

"Why are you staring at  _me_?" she asked, a frown creeping onto her features.

He licked the inside of his cheek, and let out a puff of air from his nostrils in amusement. "Because I was thinking of something."

"You were staring at me, because you were thinking of something? That doesn't make any sense, Riddle," she snapped back impatiently, gathering her things to go.

But before she could leave, Tom shot forward. He grabbed her wrist, leaned into her ear, and whispered, "It would make much more sense if you knew what I was thinking. Would you  _like_  me to show you what I was thinking, Hermione?"

Hermione stilled and he took the opportunity to breathe in her scent – something close to lilacs, but not quite. She slowly pulled away, their faces close, close,  _so close_ , but  _not fucking close enough_.

Her eyelids were heavy as she looked at his lips, and her bottom lip quivered as she quietly spoke, "Not even if you offered me the entire world, Tom."

She wrenched her wrist violently from his grasp, and she was gone.

As Tom sat there, he contemplated on what he could possibly offer her that was bigger than the entire world.

* * *

Amortentia.

It was something that he'd considered for several weeks now, because nothing else was working; she'd refused him at every turn.

Tom could tell by her body language that she wanted him and he knew after several encounters between them that it wasn't just women she preferred, but she chose her morals and her high ground  _every single fucking time_ he was close to getting what he wanted and he wanted it  _so fucking badly_.

Hermione Granger was an anomaly in Tom's world, and he enjoyed collecting one-of-a-kinds.

The fact that she couldn't choose was driving him mad, so he decided that maybe he would just do her the favor of choosing for her.

* * *

The Great Hall was in its normal state at dinner in early March, with its four tables and its loud, irritating students.

But no matter how loud it was, how chaotic it was, how distracting it was, he was only focused on her. He didn't make it obvious, of course, but he watched her as she chatted it up with Margot, watched her as they exchanged lingering looks and smiles and touches, watched her as she slowly lifted her goblet to her lips.

Tom watched her as she took a small sip and she stopped smiling.

Her dilated eyes found him immediately across the hall.

Tom smiled and stood.

* * *

They'd found themselves in the same empty classroom in the East Wing where he'd first seen her.

Tom briefly wondered if he should call this scenario a fantasy fulfillment, but the thought fled his mind as soon as the door slammed shut behind them and her mouth crashed against his and his teeth pulled at her bottom lip as they frantically tore at each other's clothes and  _God,_ did he want more.

He'd told himself for months that he would take his time with her the first time, but that was  _before_  and he hadn't anticipated this feeling of desperation, hadn't involved it in this equation in all his meticulous planning.

Before he realized how quickly things had escalated, he'd already slammed her back against the same wooden desk and was sliding his cock inside her and  _oh, my fucking God_ , it was even better than he'd imagined with her legs wrapped around him like that and –

"Is that all you've got, Riddle?" she snapped impatiently, digging her heels into his back to urge him forward.

Tom lowered himself to hover over her, bringing his face close to hers, and snapped his hips forward.

"That pretty, little mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble one day, Granger," he panted into her ear, pressing his sweat-covered cheek against hers.

All she could do was moan, and claw at his back as he kept pushing himself into her as far as he could go. The desk kept scraping against the stone floor, but he didn't care, he just needed to get closer to her. No matter how hard he tried, it never felt  _close enough_  –

" _Tom_ ," she cried out desperately against his throat, and something in him broke.

He straightened himself up, grabbed her hips as she laid there, completely useless, and watched his cock enter and leave her over and over and  _over_  again until –

" _Fuck_ ," he hissed through his teeth as he spilled into her, then collapsed on her bare chest.

Hermione ran her fingers through his hair and he sighed, feeling a tingling warmth radiating through his body. Tom felt himself growing soft inside her and he didn't want to leave. The sudden feeling was so intense and so  _new_ , that it felt unnatural for him and…he froze, then lifted his suspicious gaze to see her smiling at him.

Tom pulled away from her, as if he'd just been burned.

"What have you done to me?" he asked.

She sat up, started buttoning up the front of her shirt, and replied, "I could ask you the same question, Tom."

His heart skipped a beat. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Hermione smiled, pushing herself off the desk. "Of course, you don't. Did you Obliviate yourself before or  _after_  you slipped Amortentia into my pumpkin juice?"

Tom's mouth fell open, but he recovered quickly and scowled. He went to reach for his wand, but he forgot he wasn't wearing any damn clothes. "Who  _are_  you?"

"Hermione Granger."

Tom snatched his wand out of his robes lying on the floor, and dug the tip of it into the soft skin of her collarbone. His face twisted into something ugly. "That's your name, but it doesn't tell me who you are."

Hermione's smile widened. "Kneel."

He scoffed. " _Excuse_  me? Just who do you think you –"

Tom dropped to his knees to the stone floor, hard, against his will.  _What the fuck?_

"Oh, my God. I didn't think this was actually going to work! In theory,  _sure_ , but in  _practice_?" she blabbered on excitedly, but Tom was more concerned about why he couldn't lift himself up from the damn floor.

"I swear to Merlin, I'm going to strangle you once I'm able to get up," he threatened darkly.

Hermione's attention snapped back to him. "Not possible. Sorry."

"I wasn't asking for your permission, you insufferable wench."

"No, I mean, like…it's physically impossible. I found an ancient binding ritual in my research that I thought was a bit iffy, but I figured it was worth a shot, since I can't  _actually_  kill you in this timeline; what, with your horcruxes, and all that nonsense. We just performed it – you just  _gave_  yourself to me, Riddle. All I needed was one requirement fulfilled, and you did that all on your own," she told him.

Tom stared up at this  _diabolical bitch_  in awe. He'd been fucking  _outwitted_ by a bloody  _time traveler_. He couldn't even…couldn't even fucking  _comprehend_  how this had happened. He was speechless.

"What type of person did you say would brew a love potion again, Tom? I'm just curious," she asked him with a pleasant smile.

Tom dug his trimmed fingernails into his palms until it cut deep, hating how she was bringing up the very first thing he ever said that made her speak the first words that made him  _see_  her for the first time. If he hadn't have said it, none of this would have ever happened.

He'd signed his death sentence by speaking his own, and he wasn't sure if he regretted it or not.

"The type of person who would brew a love potion are the ones most desperate for love," he repeated to her through clenched teeth.

Hermione smiled, caressing the side of his face with her palm tenderly; Tom relaxed into her touch against his will, despising his lack of self-restraint.

"Those are the truest words that have ever come out of that pretty, little mouth of yours, Tom," she replied, then stood directly in front of his face as she bunched up her skirt around her hips, sporting a diabolical smirk of her own. "Let's see what else it can do."

As his gut dropped in excited anticipation at her words, he looked up at her through his dark lashes and thought to himself:  _this is what it feels like to fall_.

* * *

**A/N:**  The end, bitches. I know. I'm evil.


End file.
